


The Big Apple

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh and Donna attend the Democratic Caucus in New York.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

“I brought lunch,” he says proudly as he walks past my desk waving a Morton’s take out bag in front of me.

I look up from the carrot stick in my hand. “For you or for us?”

He looks at me strangely. “Why would I mention it if it was just for me?”

“Out of spite.”

He smirks. “Yes, that would be fun.”

I choose to ignore him and focus on the excitement of not having to eat my carrots. “What did you bring me?” I ask, reaching for the bag.

He pulls it out of my reach and smiles. “You’ll have to come into my office to find out.”

I jump out of my chair and beat him to his office. “Beth, hold my calls!” he yells out over his shoulder as he shuts the door. Hold his calls? 

As soon as he says that, I begin reviewing the details of the last two minutes: 

1.He’s wearing his navy suit that he’s caught me checking him out in on more than one occasion. He’s using his sex appeal.  
2\. He shut the door. He knows I’m going to yell.  
3\. He bought me lunch. He’s trying to suck up.  
4\. He’s pulling the visitor’s chair up to his desk for me instead of having me do it myself. 

Oh yeah, something’s going on.

“Josh,” I say calmly. “What’s going on?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me and starts pulling things out of the bag for me. “Chicken fettuccini and a salad with the house dressing. And I had them warm up the bread,” he says proudly. Ok, he’s playing hardball.

“My favorite.” I smile, but in my head I’m trying to devise an attack plan. What could he want? 

“Anything for you, Donna,” he says, flashing his dimples. Damn it, not the dimples.

Ok, what could it be? Did he threaten a senator? Did he piss off Leo? What kind of damage control are we talking about here? “I haven’t seen much of you today,” I say cryptically. “Anything I need to know?”

He pulls out a Caesar salad for himself. He never eats salads, it’s worse than I thought. It must’ve been CJ he pissed off. “Nothing I can’t handle. You’ve got enough on your plate today.”

What????????????????? “I do?” I ask around a mouthful of fettuccini. 

“You work very hard, Donna,” he says with a smile on his face. “And I don’t say it enough. So I’m saying it now. You work hard and do an excellent job. You deserve an award of some sort.”

Ok, now I’m just scared. “What kind of award do I deserve?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just an award.” He takes a bite and looks up at me with that look that Blaire used to get on 'The Facts Of Life' when she had one of her ‘brilliant ideas.’ “You should get some time away from here.”

“Time away?” It’s so bad he’s willing to give me time off?

“Yes. The government should buy you a plane ticket someplace. Someplace happening, someplace with things to do. Someplace with nice hotels and good food and activities. Some place like…”

“Europe?” I say innocently.

He smirks. “I think the government only thinks you work hard enough to go someplace in the US.”

“Does it?” I deadpan.

He nods. “Maybe…”

“Hawaii.”

“The continental US.”

“Of course. California.”

He takes another bite of his salad and looks up at me. “If I checked around, I think I’d find out the government only thinks you work hard enough to get to go away for two or three days. California’s too far.”

I just have to say it. There’s no way around it. “Maybe the government should just give me a raise instead.”

He shakes his head and takes a bit of his salad while eyeing my fettuccini. “Nah.”

“How’s that salad?” I ask with a smile as I take another bite of my food.

He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. He knows I’m onto him. “It’s horrible actually, but you’ve mentioned that I should take better care of myself, and so I’m trying.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Because I said you should.”

He nods and smiles adoringly. “Anything for you.” Oh Lord, it’s worse than I thought. He’s dating Amy again.

“Amy likes you to take care of yourself too,” I say, giving him a lead in.

“I doubt it and I couldn’t care less,” he says. Ok, maybe he’s not dating her again. Thank goodness.

We’re quiet for a minute while we eat. “How was the hill this morning?” Come on Josh, spill. Who wants you fired?

“It was wonderful, thank you for asking.” He studies me for a minute. “I really don’t deserve you, you know that?” 

“Ok, what the hell’s going on?”

He looks up at me innocently. Too innocently. “What are you talking about?”

“I do good work, you’re eating a salad, you bought me lunch, you think I should get away for a weekend…something’s going on.”

He smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And you’re using your dimples!”

His smile turns into a smirk. “Those are just part of me Donna. I can’t help it if they make me irresistible.”

“Did you piss off CJ?” I yell.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Leo?”

“Nope.”

“The President?”

“I haven’t pissed anyone off today Donna.”

“And you’re not dating Amy?”

His head jerks up. “God no. Don’t even say that out loud.”

I stare at him for several seconds and he just keeps looking at me with a sincere smile on his face. “I’m sorry, I must be paranoid.” Is that it? Am I paranoid?

He takes another bite of his salad. “I’m telling you, you need time away. You’ve been stressed since the Carrick thing. Everyone else relaxed during the shutdown, but you were taking care of me. You need a break.” 

Is he worried about me? Is that what this is about? “Maybe,” I say quietly. It has been a rough couple of months.

“You know where you should go? New York.”

Oh, how awesome would that…. Fuck. “Josh!”

“Donna…” he says in a calming voice. I’ll kill him.

“No!”

“Think of it Donna. A weekend in the big apple, paid in large part by the government.”

”Josh!”

“Shopping, eating, relaxing by the pool….”

“Going to the Democratic Caucus!” I stand and start pacing and he puts his fork down.

“Only on Friday, you’d still have all day Saturday and Sunday.” He keeps using his reasonable voice.

“Ah hah!” I spin around and point to him. “Except for Saturday night’s reception!”

He holds his arms out and smiles widely. “Which is how you get your hotel and food paid for both nights.” 

I stick my bottom lip out. “I thought you didn’t have to go this year,” I pout.

“It got tossed back to me last night. It’s gonna be a blast!” He’s overly cheery; it’s a bit scary.

“But the caucus sucks!”

“Donna, the Democratic caucus is made up of the leaders of our political party. The discussions that take place there are important and confidential and…”

“Boring!”

“Dinner in Chinatown.” Damn it, he’s bringing out the big guns.

“Hand cramps from note taking,” I shoot back.

“A walk through Central Park,” he says with raised eyebrows.

“A conference room without windows.”

He sighs. “Art shopping in SOHO,” he says a bit weakly.

Damn. That was below the belt. “Being talked to like I’m twelve and couldn’t possibly understand the Democratic Party.”

“Not fair,” he says, pointing to me. 

“I agree,” I say in a less that lady-like shrill voice.

“You pick two meetings you want to go to without me.”

I stare at him for a minute. “As a participant?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Any two?”

“Well, there are certain meetings I have to go to, being the all important man that I am.”

“I’m gonna be sick. Any others though?”

“Agreed,” he says with a big smile as though he’s won. Hardly. It takes more than a free lunch and a nice suit to get me.

“I want more,” I say stubbornly.

He bangs his head on his desk. “Donna!”

“I want to pick Friday night's activity.” He looks up to say something but I cut him off. “No questions asked.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Fine, but I get to pick Saturday’s.” That was too easy.

“You already have?”

He nods hard once. “Yes.”

I hate him. “Fine, but I get Sunday.”

“No fair!” I swear, he’s a child. “You get Friday and Sunday while I only get Saturday!”

Now I act like the calm one. “But you get all of Saturday, I only get part of Friday and Sunday.” Make him see things my way.

“But the reception’s Saturday night!” Damn. I was hoping he’d forget that.

“But this is my weekend for being an amazing employee. Remember? That’s what you said.”

“I said excellent, not amazing, and I was just sucking up.”

I walk around and stand right in front of his chair, leaning over and getting in his face. “This was going to be my weekend off. I haven’t had one since before the shut down. Since before Carrick. Since before Amy. This was my weekend off, we already agreed.”

He leans back, a little frightened. Good. “But now I need you to work.”

I stand up. “You need me to work? You have my demands.”

He stares at me the way he does Congress, I imagine. Fortunately, he doesn’t scare me the way he does Congress, so I don’t cave. Finally he spits out, “Fine! You get two meetings on your own, and you get to plan Friday evening and Sunday afternoon.”

“And you pay for Friday evening,” I say, going for broke.

“What?” he screeches.

I hold up a hand. “I’m not asking for Sunday, just Friday.”

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“And we stay someplace nice.”

“We have to stay at the convention hotel.”

“That’s the Plaza,” I say excitedly.

“Yes.”

“That’s nice.”

He gives me an evil glare. “I know.”

“Ok. Agreed.”

“You’re ripping me off,” he mumbles as I walk towards the door.

“Thanks for lunch,” I say triumphantly as I open it and walk out.


	2. The Big Apple

“I’m hot.”

“You’re fine.”

“It’s crowded in here.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m bored.” 

“You’re fine.”

“I can’t believe I paid for this.”

“You’re fine!” I say through gritted teeth.

He leans over and whispers, “It’s not too late to leave, but we have to go now, before it starts.”

Patience, Donna. Patience. Remember, Josh is a child and needs to be treated like one. “Joshua. I took notes all day. ALL DAY. My hand is killing me. You promised. This was a promise you made to me. You said we could have fun.”

“But this isn’t fun.” Great, now he’s whining.

I hang my head. I should’ve left him at the hotel. “It hasn’t even started. You might have fun.” He gives me a ‘yeah, right’ look. “Listen mister,” I say, poking him in the chest. “You got to pick what we’re doing tomorrow. I got to pick tonight. That was the deal.”

“But I picked something fun,” he says not too quietly.

I’m going to scream. “Are you going to complain the entire time?” 

He raises his eyebrows and thinks for a few seconds. “Yes.” Well, at least he’s honest.

I nod. “Fine, just remember this conversation when I’m complaining tomorrow.”

“Why would you complain tomorrow?” he asks, flabbergasted.

I stare at him for a second. “Because I’ll have no interest in tomorrow’s activity.” See, I’m just pretending here. I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow. Josh with the smile of an eleven year-old, what’s not to like?

“How can that be?” He can’t even grasp that I might not enjoy tomorrow. It’s as foreign to him as if I’d just announced that I’m a member of the NRA. 

“How can you have no interest in this? This is culture, this is beautiful, this is…” I look around in awe. “…art.” 

He shrugs. “Because it’s a girly musical and I’m a man.”

I huff at him. “Well, that’s debatable.”

His mouth drops open and when he talks, it’s a borderline screech. “I’ll have you know many, many women have been checking me out tonight,” he says proudly. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Maybe I should clarify. Should I be impressed by the sight of him in a tux? Yes. Should I be impressed that other women agree? No, that’s just common sense. Women aren’t idiots; he looks good and they know it.

He smirks. “Well, they certainly are.”

“Would you be impressed if many, many men were checking me out?” Ooooh! Now we’re getting somewhere. Just as I ask him that, a man does indeed check me out. And he’s not bashful or sly about it. He wants me and he wants me to know he wants me. I can’t fault the man; I do look hot. This dress reveals just enough to be sexy without being something Amy would wear. And judging by Josh’s reaction when I answered the door to my hotel room earlier, I’d say he likes it. 

“Hey,” he says, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. “You don’t have to encourage him.”

“I’m just being polite,” I reply innocently, smiling at the man as he passes us. He must notice Josh, because suddenly he looks at the ground and moves along faster. I glance over and see Josh giving him a ‘stay the hell away from my woman’ glare. His eyes follow the man as he walks away and then he notices me scowling.

“What?” he asks with an aura of innocence. “He must’ve lost interest. They’re dimming the lights, let’s go find our seats.”

**********

The house lights come on and Josh jumps out of his seat like he’s been sitting on fire for the last hour and forty-five minutes. “Is it over?”

I try to hide the smile. He’s infuriating, but oh so cute. “Has there been any sort of ending?”

He shrugs. “They just sang.”

I stand up next to him. “They’ve been singing all along.”

“But a lot of them sang this last one.”

We start into the aisle. “And what did they sing about?”

He’s reading through his playbill, and waves dismissively. “I don’t know, love or something.”

“You’re such a romantic,” I say sarcastically.

His head jerks up. “Hey! I can pull out the romance!”

“I’m sure you can,” I say doubtfully.

“I can,” he says louder.

I look up at him and smile, an evil smile. “I just said you could.”

“But you were being sarcastic.”

I nod. “Yes, like you. You know it’s not over. You’re not this…” I gesture towards him.

“Sexy?” No, you are this sexy, in fact.

“Idiotic. You know its only intermission. Let’s go get a drink.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I can drink?”

I link my arm through his. “Sure. You may have one drink.”

We walk into the lobby and I use the restroom while Josh waits in line to get us some wine. When I come back, he’s still in line. Isn’t he paying attention? People are cutting in front of him left and right. I stand back and watch him with a smile on my face as he fiddles with his cell phone until some hussy comes up and starts talking to him. What the hell?

He smiles and starts flashing his dimples and I force myself to take deep breaths until… get your hands off his arms, you little whore. Her brash movements propel me into action.

“There you are,” I say with a voice like sugar, walking up to him. He looks at me, obviously confused, but I just keep talking. “No wine yet?” I ask with a big smile, turning him towards me and straightening his bowtie.

He looks back at the slut and then back at me and his smile turns into a smirk. “Long line. I was just talking with…” he turns to her. “I’m sorry…”

“Tina,” the slut says a bit uneasily.

I finish with his bowtie and graze my hand over his chin before reaching out and shaking her hand. “Tina, I’m Donna. This…” I say, possessively putting my hand on Josh’s chest and leaning in very close to him, “is Josh.”

The look on her face tells me she’s seen the error of her ways. “Nice to meet you. I think it’s…” she points to the bar.

By the time Josh pays for the wine, the slut has slinked away into her cave of slutness. Josh hands me my glass, still smirking. “What?” I ask.

“Oh nothing,” he says victoriously.

I shrug. “She must’ve lost interest.”

He laughs a bit but then something catches his eye. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Senator Harris is coming our way?”

“Oklahoma Harris?”

He looks pointedly at me. “New York Harris.”

I groan. “No.” It’s ‘hands-on’ Harris. This man is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. 

“Senator, hello. What a surprise,” Josh says with a plastic smile in place.

“Josh, what brings you to New York?” he asks, shaking his hand. 

“The Caucus.” Like he didn’t know. He was there. Idiot.

“And Donna! Hello,” he says, picking my hand up and kissing it, making me want to dump my wine on him. 

“Hello Senator,” I say with a plastic smile of my own, pulling my hand from his grasp somewhat forcefully.

“Did Josh drag you here for the caucus?” he asks me, standing a bit too close for my comfort. It must be too close for Josh’s comfort as well, because he takes a small step between us, giving me reason to take a step back. 

“Yes Sir,” I say smiling. Josh looks at me and can tell it’s my ‘you are the creepiest man alive smile.’ He raises his eyebrows, asking if I’m ok and I smile back. This is different than it was with the flirting guy earlier. That was jealous Josh, this is protective Josh. I like it when Josh protects me. I can protect myself, but it’s nice to have a guy there to do it, you know what I’m saying?

“You know, Donna. You can always come work for me, if he becomes too much.” Yeah, what he really means is ‘you can always come sleep with me.’

“Thank you Sir, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“That’s a beautiful dress you have on, Donna. You’re the most stunning thing in the room,” he says, touching the thin strap of my dress and then my shoulder. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Josh’s cue.

He puts his hand on my back, glares at the senator and speaks low and quietly. “If you’ll excuse us Senator, we want to get back to our seats before the second act begins.” He’s polite in his words, but there’s no question as to what he’s actually saying.

The senator straightens a little, a priceless look on his face. “Yes. Well, have a nice weekend.”

“Thank you.” Josh wraps his arm a little further around my waist than he normally would in front of a member of Congress, and we begin walking back towards our seats. “You ok?” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” I say, smiling both to thank him and assure him.

“Fucking bastard. I should’ve kicked his ass,” he says quietly, pulling me even closer to him.

“Yes. Please go back there and fight a senator in public. Ruin the show, your tux, not to mention your career. That’s what I’d like you to do.”

I’m trying to stay casual, but he’s furious. “Senator or not, he doesn’t get to touch you. Not like that.”

“You were there and I’m fine. Just let it go.” He looks at me hard, just to make sure I’m ok I think, then relaxes just a little.

“Fine, I’ll let it go… for now,” he growls out. Good job ‘hands-on’ Harris, now you’re in big trouble.

**********

Josh is staring at me like he’s frightened. He’s kind of dumbly holding a handkerchief for me and looking at me like I’m emotionally unstable. I’m not; it was just sad. I don’t want to give it away, but let’s just say not everyone makes to the end of 'Aida' alive. 

And it’s not like I’m sobbing uncontrollably, flinging myself at him or making horrible sounds, I’m just quietly standing here by my seat with a few tears on my cheek and more pooled in my eyes. “It’s not contagious,” I say a minute later when I can’t take the shifting and avoiding eye contact with me any longer.

“I know,” he says defensively, holding the handkerchief up for me to take it.

He looks so uncomfortable; I can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re very inept at this,” I say when he looks up from his hand to me.

He raises his eyebrows, “I don’t have much experience. You rarely cry.”

He’s never been around when I watch 'Steel Magnolias.' “What about other women you’ve seen cry?”

“Like whom?”

“Josh, surely you’ve dated women who’ve cried at movies or…” I trail off when he looks at me like I’m crazy. “Never?”

He shakes his head.

“Mandy, Amy?”

He shakes his head. “I think they’re missing that thing you need to cry.”

“Tear ducts?” We start walking with the crowd out of the theater.

“A heart.”

I laugh, suddenly not so upset by the musical. How does he do that? “What about other women you’ve dated?”

He shrugs. “They were all like Amy and Mandy.”

“You’re telling me the only women you’ve ever dated were heartless shrews?”

He looks pointedly at me. “You’re one to talk about bad dating choices. They let you support them, let you lie for them…” 

“Point taken.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not the only one who sucks at relationships.” At this point, he eyes Senator Harris and starts giving him an evil glare.

“Maybe we should make a pact,” I say jokingly, trying to get him to drop the whole Senator Harris thing. He has no idea how many members of Congress he’d have to fight if he fought every one of them who’d ever hit on me. “If we’re not married by the time we’re both 50, we just go ahead and marry each other, end the pain for the rest of the world.”

“We’ll be married before then,” he says distractedly, still looking over at the senator.

“What?” I shriek, causing several people to snap their heads in my direction, including Josh.

He looks at me, confused. “What?”

“You said…” oh shit. 

His eyes get huge. “I meant…. uh…” 

It gets eerily quiet and I realize we’ve got to find a way to talk ourselves out of this mess. “Separately?” I ask slowly.

“Separately?” Come one Josh; work with me here. “Oh… right,” he finally stutters. “I meant, ‘we’ll each be married before then.”

I nod. “Right. That’s what I thought you meant.” I don’t think that’s what he meant at all.


	3. The Big Apple

“What are we doing now, oh planner of Friday nights?” I ask once we’re in the cab.

She laughs a little; she can’t resist me. “Well, it’s 11:30. Are you tired?”

At 11:30? I’m usually still at work. “Nope, what’s next?”

“I’m sure there are some cool clubs around here,” she says innocently but with an evil glint in her eyes.

“Of course, “ I say suggestively, “we’ve already been listening to music for the last several hours.”

“Several? Don’t you mean three?”

“Three is more than two, therefore it’s not a few, it’s several.”

“Is that how it works?” 

“I believe so.” She tries, but she just can’t help smiling at me. I’m cute; I can’t help it. Ok, yes I can. I just choose to use it to my advantage. Especially with her.

“Are you hungry?”

I think for a minute. “Not really, but I could eat.”

“Even though you’re not hungry?”

I nod. “Yeah, pretty much anytime there’s food around.” Duh.

“Of course. How ‘bout a walk through Central Park?”

“Won’t we get mugged? It’s almost midnight.”

“It’s pretty well populated on the weekends,” the cab driver says. Listen in, why don’t you?

“That settles it then,” I say cheerfully. “Drop us off at Central Park.”

“It’s a pretty big place,” the driver says sarcastically. What the hell? 

“Someplace nice to walk around,” I growl.

“I like the Shakespeare Garden, it’s not far from the castle.”

”The Shakespeare Garden it is then.” Now was that so hard?

********** 

Donna looks really hot tonight. Actually, that’s not true. I rarely think Donna looks hot. Usually, and tonight is no different, I think Donna looks beautiful. Never too flashy, never too made-up, just Donna being Donna. Now, when she went all possessive when that woman was talking to me, that was hot.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asks as we walk around on a path through the Shakespeare Garden. 

Shit! “What?”

“Do I have something on me?” she looks down at her dress.

I’m quiet for a minute and then I do what I always do. I ignore the question and move on. “Why do they call this the Shakespeare Garden?” I ask, putting my hands in my pockets.

She loops her right arm through my left one. “There’s a tree here that’s a graft of one he planted in England,” she says casually.

“Are you making that up?”

“No,” she says smiling and looking off in the distance.

“How do you know that?” What does she do all day while I’m working?

“I know things.”

“Strange things,” I say with a chuckle. 

“Important things,” she says, nudging me with her arm.

“That’s important?” We take a right down a path and leave the garden area.

“You asked a question; I was able to answer it. Your questions aren’t important?”

I look over at her. “You’re very tricky.”

“How so?” she asks with a smile that tells me she does indeed know how so.

“You made your inane trivia look important by making me look important.”

She shrugs. “I’m good like that.”

“Yes you are.”

We walk for a few minutes until we come upon a building. “What’s this?”

“I think it’s the marionette theatre.”

“Central Park has a puppet theater?”

“They say marionette.”

“But you and I both know they’re puppets, and we’re the only two around.”

“No, puppets go on your hands. Marionettes hang from strings,” she says victoriously.

“Either way, their both creepy.” I see a big building off to my left. “Is that the castle?”

“Looks like it. Let’s go check it out,” she says excitedly.

“No,” I drawl out, tugging on her arm to keep her back with me.

“What?” She looks heart-broken, poor thing.

“It’s late. It’s a dark creepy building where anyone could be lurking around.” 

She looks at me for a minute, then smiles. “Actually it’s a nature conservatory. You can’t even get in there at night.”

“How do you know that stuff?” I scream through gritted teeth. Sometimes I don’t know if I want to kiss her or strangle her to death!

She shrugs and smiles. “I told you, I’m good like that.” Kiss her; definitely kiss her.

********** 

“Come up here with me.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be climbing on that thing.” We’re at some tiger statue and Donna’s climbing the thing. 

“No one cares, it’s late at night.”

I nod. “That’s the excuse I’ll use when they arrest you. ‘It was late officer, so she thought it was alright.’”

“No one’s calling the police on me, Josh,” she scoffs while she continues climbing. 

“I might, just for fun.”

“That’s how you get your kicks?”

I shrug. “You’ve got those pointy shoes on, you’re gonna fall.”

“They’re called heels and I walk in heels everyday.”

“Not on rough terrain.”

She sits down on top of the tiger. “Tad da!”

“Ta da?” Man she looks cute sitting up there. She looks young and energetic and… what the hell’s with me tonight? I jog up the rocks and sit on the back of the tiger, straddling it so my chest is flush up against her side. That’s not gonna help set me on track. 

She squints her eyes at me. “Why did you wait until I was up here before you came up?”

I shrug. “To make sure it didn’t move or break or anything when you sat on it.”

“So I was the guinea pig?”

“Naturally.” 

********** 

“This is a cool bridge. Let’s go under it and see if there’s an echo.” She takes my hand and starts tugging towards the end of the bridge.

“No,” I say, tugging back.

“But…” now she’s pouting.

“Donna. You’re in Central Park after midnight. You need to stay in well-lit places. You’re not going under a bridge or into a castle.”

“But you’ll protect me.” She continues pulling on my hand, but I don’t budge.

“As much as I appreciate your trust in my protection abilities, I’m no good against a gun or a knife.”

She stops pulling. “So you think someone’s waiting under there on the off-chance that I want to see if there’s an echo.”

I hop up on the ledge and swing my feet around, dangling them over the side. “I’m just saying, if someone’s hiding, that’d be the place to do it.” She smiles at me and sits on the ledge, facing the other direction. 

“I’m wise beyond my years," I say. "You should listen to me.”

“Beyond your years? That’s a lot of years.”

“Hey!” I half-yell, nudging her with my arm.

“What?” she says innocently.

“You make fun of me after I was being… you know…”

“Heroic?” she says, laughing.

“Well, not heroic maybe, but…”

“No, I’d say you were being heroic,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder. I love being her hero.

“Yet you still mock me?”

“I’ll always mock you, Joshua.”

This makes me smile for reasons I don’t like to think about. “Promise?”

“Yep.”

********** 

“What is this supposed to be?” I ask, staring at the rather odd statue we’ve happened upon.

She starts climbing it. “Alice in Wonderland.”

“What?”

“Josh, it’s Alice in Wonderland. There’s the Mad Hatter, and this,” she says, sitting next to a girl on a stool of some sort and patting her arm, “is Alice.”

“How do you know? I think you make this stuff up.”

“I don’t make things up.”

“You don’t? Ever?” I ask skeptically. 

She gives me an evil grin. “You’ll never know.”

“Ah hah!”

“The false information you’ve been spouting off for the last five years…”

“I knew all that stuff was a crock.”

“I’ve turned you into my own political party and you didn’t even know it.”

“Oh I knew it. I was just afraid to stop you.”

“You’re a wise, wise man.”

“Yes I know,” I say, hopping off. “Ready to find something else?”

“My feet hurt,” she whines.

“What?”

“My feet. They hurt.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m wearing pointy shoes, as you so eloquently put it.”

“I am eloquent like that.”

“Josh,” she whines. “My feet hurt.”

I laugh openly at her. I’m nice that way. “So what, you want to sleep here at the possible Alice in Wonderland statue so you don’t have to walk anymore in your shoes.”

“No, but how far are we from the hotel?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought you did.”

She shakes her head slowly back and forth. “No. And I’m sleepy.”

Now I can’t help smirking. “Sleepy, not tired?”

Her bottom lip juts out. “Nope, sleepy.”

I take her hand and pull her down off her stool thing and start walking. “I hear cars that way, let’s get a cab, sleepy head.

She smiles at me and leaves her hand in mine. I’m not gonna think about that. “Kay,” she says with the smile of a child and a tilt of her head. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.” Ok, I admit, I’m thinking about it.

“Even though I made you go to a musical?”

I sigh and let my secret out. “I liked the musical.”

“I know,” she says, dropping my hand and spinning around holding her arms out, suddenly giving me a visual of our five year-old daughter doing the same thing. I’ll just file that image away for the future. The distant future.

“How’d you know? I pulled out all the stops. I even whined, which I never do!”

She laughs. “You? Whine? Never.” She says that rather emphatically and I have a suspicion she’s being sarcastic.

“You really knew?”

She nods. “I knew. I know you very well, Joshua.” Now see, that just makes me smile.


	4. The Big Apple

It takes to the third ring before I’m actually sure what it is I’m hearing. “Hello?”

“Time to get up!”

I pry one eye open to look at the clock. “It’s seven,” I manage to growl out. “We agreed we were sleeping in.”

“You usually get up at 5:30. It’s a big day Donna! Up and at ‘em.” 

“It’s seven,” I repeat.

“It starts at two! Get up!”

“It’s seven.”

“Batting practice starts at one! Come on!”

“It’s seven.”

“The gates open at 12:30! You have to be there when the gates open! You have to!”

“But it’s seven.”

“It’s a half hour subway ride! There’s no time to waste!”

“Seven.”

“It’s a ten minute walk to the right line, and then a five minute walk once we get off the subway! It’s a beautiful day! Let’s go!”

”It’s seven.”

“You keep saying that.”

“We need to leave here...”

“No later than 11:15. Earlier to be safe.”

“Call me back at 10:15.” And I hang up. Great, now I have to pee.

********** 

I’m awoken, again, by the ringing phone. Is it 10:15 already? “Hello?”

“Good morning!” He is too chipper for his own good.

“Is it 10:15?”

“Almost! Get up!”

“What’s almost?”

“8:05.” 

“10:15,” I growl out, hanging up on him again. This time I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. I need sleep. I must sleep. We got back to the hotel at three o’clock and I spent the next two hours trying to get my mind to convince my heart that I hadn’t just been on the best date of my life. I need sleep.

********** 

What is that? Is that a knock? Is someone knocking on my door? I glance at the clock. 8:30. I’m gonna kill him. I stand up and untwist my tank top from around my body before rubbing my eyes on the way to the door. I look through the peephole and see Josh on other side with two cups of coffee in his hands, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet, the smile of a ten year-old on his face, looking as though he had ten hours of sleep. Damn he’s cute.

Not to be thrown by his boyish charm, I throw open the door and shout rather loudly, “It’s not 10:15.”

He looks at me and his smile fades as his eyes pop open further. His mouth opens a little but he doesn’t say anything. His gaze drifts down my body and back up to my face, but not quite to my eyes. Ok…

“Hello?” 

Still he stares at me, hard, his breathing becoming a bit shallow. Is he ok?

“Are one of those for me?” I ask, reaching my hand out for one of the coffees. He doesn’t look down at them; he just reaches them both towards me. I’m not completely sure he knows what’s going on, he doesn’t look so good right now, so I cock my hip out to hold open the door and reach forward and take both of them from him. 

And then his hands are on my cheeks and he’s kissing me. What the hell? Did I miss something?

Now I’m kissing back. I must’ve missed something somewhere. I don’t have time to ponder what it is I missed, because tongues are tracing lips, lips are sucking on lips, tongues are dancing together… we’re pretty good at this.

We break apart after quite a bit of time has passed and stare at each other in shock and let’s face it, arousal. He stammers back against the opposite wall in the small hallway in my room, breathing heavily and staring at me with wet lips, neither of us speaking.

I’m the first one to say anything and it’s, “Uhh…” Not quite the clever response I was going for.

“Oops,” he replies.

I wonder if I look like him. Kind of scared and turned on and amazed and confused all at once. “We uh…”

“Yeah,” he says, in far too sexy of a voice, but with wide eyes.

We stare at each other for another minute. “That’s probably not…”

“In the office handbook,” he finishes.

“Right.”

Another minute goes by and it’s weird because we’re never this quiet around each other. Finally, he rubs his hand over his face “I didn’t mean to …. Oh shit. That was bad.” 

My eyes get bigger, if that’s even possible. “It was?”

He holds up a finger to me and takes a few more breaths. “Not the act itself.” He pauses again and then his eyes widen in fright. “Don’t be mad.”

I dumbly nod. “Ok.”

He moves further into the room and starts pacing. “It was an accident, that’s all it was.”

I notice I’m still propping the door open, so I walk in and let it shut behind me and I put the coffees down on the dresser by my suitcase. “Right, we just bumped into each other. It happens.”

And then the most amazing thing happens. He stops pacing and looks at me. Then he laughs. “I didn’t mean that kind of an accident.”

“Oh.” I’m not real sure what’s going on and I admit to being a bit dazed. 

He looks back at the ground and resumes his pacing, gesturing between the two of us. “I… last night… and it was like… and then…” He stands up and looks at me. “And you look…” He stares at me for several seconds then looks back at the ground and resumes his pacing. “I couldn’t help it.”

Well, I’m not real sure what he said but… “Yeah, that’s why I… you know… kissed back. Same reasons.”

He looks up at me. “Right. So I got distracted and it was temporary insanity and…” he stops talking...

“It won’t happen again,” I say in a voice that makes it come out almost like a question.

He pauses a minute and finally drawls out, “Right. Because…”

We’re having trouble getting this out. “We… work together and it would be…”

“Bad,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound too convincing. I nod. “Well, not bad, clearly, but inappropriate.”

I bite my lower lip and he moans a bit. “Because it wasn’t bad.”

He shakes his head. “No. Not bad at all.”

“I mean, if one were to judge it based solely on content…” See, I shouldn’t be bringing that up.

“They’d say it was un-bad. They might even say good.”

“Really good.”

He takes a step towards me. “Amazing even.”

“Phenomenal.”

Another step. “Explosive.” And then just as suddenly, he stops moving towards me. “But…”

“But we’re not going to do it again. Right?” My voice kind of betrayed me there.

He takes a giant step back. “Right.” 

I nod. “Ok.” I take a deep breath. “That’s for the best.”

“Absolutely.” He doesn’t sound too sure of that.

We look at each other and I can feel awkwardness enter the room, so I go for banter. It’s always saved us in the past. “It’s not 10:15.”

“What?”

“10:15. I said you could call back at 10:15. Instead, you show up here at 8:30 and…” I wave my hands around.

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

He nods and smiles just a little. “I thought if I offered to buy you breakfast, you’d get up.”

Then I smile back and the awkwardness starts to go. “That’s pretty smart of you.”

He smirks and it leaves altogether. “Yes, I know.”

I shake my head at him. “I’m getting in the shower. I want French toast.”

“The shower.” He looks towards the bathroom. “I probably shouldn’t be here for that.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” I say chuckling as I head towards the bathroom feeling mostly normal again. When I get inside I look at my disheveled appearance in the mirror and make some sort of choking sound.

“What?” he asks, walking to the bathroom door. 

“You’ve seen me after I’ve spent good money having my hair and make-up professionally done, wearing dresses that cost hundreds of dollars, but I look like this and you…”

He shrugs and flashes his dimples. “Every man has his breaking point.”

I look back in the mirror. I look pretty rumpled. My hair is in a ponytail that isn’t at its best, hair sticking out all over the place and I’ve got no make-up on. I’m wearing an old tank top with a frayed out hem and blue medical scrub bottoms, the one thing I kept from the Dr. FreeRide days. At least I brushed my teeth when he woke me up the first time. I look back at him through the mirror. “And this was yours?” 

He tilts his head and looks at me through the mirror then finally nods. “Apparently so.”

********** 

Forty-five minutes later, he knocks on my door again. I, being… me, walk up to it and say, “I’m answering the door now. Try not to have anymore accidents.”

“You’re very funny,” he sneers, giving the door a nasty look, which makes me laugh. “Open up.”

I open the door. “You took both coffees when you left.”

He looks at me pointedly. “That’s cause you were mean.”

I give a look of innocence. “Me? When?”

“Just now.”

I smile. “But you took them forty-five minutes ago.”

He smirks. “Yes, but I knew you’d be mean when I got back.”

I think for a minute and then nod. “That was a safe bet.” I grab my purse and we head down the hall. “How ‘bout this? No more teasing about the accident.”

He nods. “I think that’s for the best.”

Now I smirk. “Of course you do, you caused the accident.”

He presses the button for the elevator. “But I wasn’t the only one participating in the accident.” 

Got to give him that one. “True.”

“And as I’m sure you can tell, all things are normal again and there will be no more accidents. Here, you need this,” he says, handing me a baseball mitt. I notice he has another one in his hand.

I take it from him and stare at it for a minute. “We’re not actually playing for the Mets today, right? Cause if so, I could’ve used a bit more practice.”

He smiles. “Clever. We’re sitting on the first-base line. A prime place to catch foul balls.”

“We both need mitts?”

He shrugs. “Twice the chances.”

“But if I catch one, I’ll be expected to give it to you, right?”

He shakes his head. “A man doesn’t want a foul ball caught by someone else. It only counts if he catches it himself.”

“Counts?”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea.”

He puts his hand on my lower back as we enter the lobby. “You’ve got a lot to learn today.”

I smile widely at him. This feels like us. “Apparently so.”


	5. The Big Apple

“I’m hot.”

“You’re fine.”

“This seat’s uncomfortable.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m bored.” 

“You’re fine.”

“I can’t believe I paid for this.”

“You didn’t!” he says rather loudly, making me laugh. Then it dawns on him and he points at me. “I see what you’re doing.”

“You do?” I feign innocence.

“You’re mimicking me.”

“Would I do that?” I ask, putting my hand on my chest in mock disbelief.

“You would and often do.”

“Hmm… I find that hard to believe.”

“And now you think you’re being witty.”

“Oh, I am being witty,” I say, draping my legs over the empty chair in front of me. Since I’m wearing shorts for the second time all summer, I figure I might as well get a little sun.

“You can’t sit like that,” he screeches out.

I look over at him. “Why not?” 

He looks at my legs as he speaks. “That’s somebody’s seat.”

“And when the owner of the seat gets here, I’ll gladly move my feet from it, but for now, I’m working on my tan.”

He looks up at my face and smirks. “You don’t have a tan.”

“Thank you. I’m aware,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him.

“I’m just saying.” 

“If I didn’t have to work such horrendous hours, I’d have a tan.”

He laughs at me. “No you wouldn’t.”

My mouth drops open in shock. He’s correct, but still. “We have an hour and twenty minutes before the game starts, Josh. I think this seat’s going to be empty for a while.”

“Batting practice starts in twenty minutes. I’m sure they’ll be here for that.” He leans back in his seat and props his feet up on the chair back in front of him. He’s allowed, I guess. I don’t complain because although he needs sun almost as badly as I do, he has rather nice legs. 

“Because batting practice is a must,” I say, repeating his earlier words.

He nods. “Yes.”

“For what reason, exactly?”

“Because.”

“Ah… thanks for clearing that up.”

He lets his head hang. “Because that’s what you do. You get here when the gates open and buy the program so you can keep track of the game play by play. You wear your mitt, you drink beer from the ‘cold beer here’ guy, you sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch and you eat hotdogs. It’s what you do.”

I smile softly at him. “That’s what you and your dad did?”

He nods, looking very far away. “Yeah.”

“See, now that clears it up,” I say with a smile. 

“We came twice every summer when I was a kid. He always bought me a pennant,” he says, looking out at the field.

“How ‘bout I buy you a pennant today?”

He looks at me and gets a huge smile on his face. “It has to be a Mets one.”

I fight the urge to initiate another accident and say, “Really, I never would’ve guessed.”

********** 

“Shortstop is the greatest of all baseball positions,” he leans over and says to me, stealing some of my cracker jacks after the shortstop makes a double play in the bottom of the first.

I lean in to him. “Why?”

“Because he gets to cover shortstop, second base, third base and pitcher’s mound,” he tells me, pointing around the field as if I have no idea where those positions are.

“So he’s like the go-to guy.”

He puts his arm on to the back of my chair. “Yes.”

“And before you realized last year that you were never going to play professional baseball, you wanted to be shortstop?”

He smiles but continues watching the game. “Yes.”

“And would you have had a nick-name?” I ask, smiling. I love to tease him about this amazing baseball career he believes he should’ve had.

“Of course,” he says with a smirk. “All the best players have nick-names.”

“Yours would’ve been what? Lucky Lyman?”

“Josh the jet Lyman,” he says while clapping at the strike the pitcher throws then putting his arm back.

I laugh. “You actually planned your nick-name?”

He shrugs. “All guys know their baseball nick-name.”

“All guys?” I ask doubtfully.

He looks at me and starts to say something, but then turns to the guy behind him. “If you played professional baseball, what would your nick-name be?”

“Stealy Steve Robertson,” the guy answers without hesitation never taking his eye off the field.

“And what position would you play?”

“Shortstop,” he says with a ‘duh’ voice. Josh turns to me and smirks. He’s too damn cute for his own good. 

**********

“Where are you going?”

“The restroom.”

“In the middle of the game?”

“Is there a half-time?” For the record, I know the answer to that question; I’m just proving a point.

“What? No.” 

“Then I’m going now,” I say matter-of-factly.

I hear him mumble, “Women,” as I walk up the aisle.

**********

“Cold beer here,” the guy yells, walking down the steps. 

“Two!” Josh yells and raises his right, gloved hand. He hasn’t taken it off the entire game. His left hand is around my chair again, and I can feel his fingers toying with my hair a bit and occasionally brushing my shoulder. I don’t think he even realizes it and I’m not going to say anything for three reasons. One - I don’t want him to think I’m reading anything into it after our earlier accident. Two - I don’t want us to feel like we have to watch ourselves now just because we had a moment of… weakness. Three - I don’t really want him to stop. 

“Two?” I raise my eyebrows at him. 

“One’s for you,” he says defensively. We have a deal. He gets two beers. An entire inning must occur between finishing the first and ordering the second, and both must be finished before the seventh inning stretch. Also, he must eat one thing between the two.

“Ok, just remember….” 

“I know the rules,” he whispers, cutting me off. “Don’t bring them up, you’ll make me look like a pansy in front of the guys.” 

“What guys?”

He looks around and gestures. “The guys.”

********** 

“Where are you going?”

“The restroom.”

“Again?” he screeches.

“You act like I went fifteen minutes ago. It’s been two and half hours.” 

“Are you flirting with one of the concession guys up there or something?”

“Yes Joshua, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Because I’m looking rather sexy what with all the sweat that’s covering my body on this 98 degree day.” His eyes get huge but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sounds sexy to me,” Stealy Steve says from behind us, earning himself a glare from Josh.

“I’ll walk you,” Josh grumbles, getting up while I smile brilliantly at Stealy Steve. “And stop smiling at him,” he says, putting his hand on my back possessively.

**********

“Why are they walking this guy? He’s not a big hitter.”

“There’s a man on second and third with one out. They want to load the bases,” he says, eyes on the field.

“Why?”

“So there’s a force out on every base and they can get the double play.”

I feel something moving on my thigh and I look down to see Josh’s hand on it a few inches above my knee drawing little patterns on me with his thumb. I gawk at it for several seconds, not breathing so well. How long has that been there?

“But what if the next guy gets a base hit? Then we score,” I ask, trying to stay calm but staring down at his hand on my leg. 

“He’s 0 for 2, they don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he says distractedly.

“Right,” I say slowly.

He leans in a bit closer. “But if he strikes out, we’ll have another chance and our next batter…” he trails off and I glance up at him. He’s looking down at my hand, which is wrapped around his arm. My fingernails are skimming up and down his forearm. How long have we been like this?

“Oops,” I say quietly, pulling my hand away from his arm, which draws attention to his hand, and he notices it I think for the first time, because he makes some weird noise and rips his arm off me like my leg’s on fire.

“Oops,” he repeats, still looking at my lap. 

It’s quiet for a minute and I feel awkwardness peeking back in so I go for banter. “Well, look at it this way, at least I’m not off doing that with the concession guy.”

He laughs but doesn’t say anything. 

“Joshua,” I finally say, nudging him. “You just gonna stare at my legs the rest of the game?”

He doesn’t look up. “Just to be safe, I don’t think I should look at your face right now.”

What? “Why?”

“Because your lips are on it,” he says casually. 

“What does that…oh.” I raise my eyebrows in interest. “You think we might have another…” I gesture at nothing. 

He takes a deep breath and nods. “I can pretty much guarantee it, in fact.”

I bite my lip to keep from telling him I wouldn’t mind. “Well, you should probably just stare at my legs for a few more minutes then.” Well, that just sounded… wrong.

And once again he laughs, sending awkwardness far away from us. “An invitation to stare at a woman’s legs. This is a first.” 

“You should feel privileged. That’s an invitation not every man receives.”

“Not even the concession guy?” he asks with a smirk as he focuses once again on the field.

I smile and turn my attention to the field as well. “Well yeah, him. But not Stealy Steve.”


	6. The Big Apple

I’m almost ready for the reception when Josh knocks on the door. I pull it open and hand him my room key. “Hold on to this tonight.”

He takes it without question. “Let’s get this over with,” he says grimly.

“You’re not going to be grumpy all night, Joshua.”

“It’s gonna be boring,” he whines.

“These are your people.”

“Our people, and they’re still boring.”

He walks into the room and I let the door close, then walk to the mirror to put my necklace on. “True, they are boring. But you had a fun afternoon and your team won and you should be happy.”

I watch in the mirror as he gets a big smile on his face. “That was fun.”

“Well, just channel that funness into the reception tonight.” I finally get the necklace fastened and turn around to face him.

He raises as eyebrow and smirks at me. “Funness?”

“Is that a clean shirt?” I ask, ignoring his comment and nodding towards his tux. It’s the same one he wore last night to 'Aida,' but as long as it’s a clean shirt, it’s ok.

“Yes dear,” he replies sarcastically.

“You need me to nag you.”

He finds this hard to dispute so chooses instead to ignore it. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you. You need help with that bowtie?”

“Don’t I always?” he asks, handing it to me.

I walk up and drape it around his neck, starting to tie it. “You must’ve worn these before you knew me,” I say good-naturedly. I love tying them; he always smells so nice.

“I can’t remember back that far,” he says, flashing his dimples.

“Let me refresh your memory. You were grumpy and disorganized,” I say, focusing on the tie in front of me and not said dimples.

“How do you know?” he asks distractedly.

I smile and wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve heard things.” He doesn’t come back with a response and after a few seconds I jut my bottom lip out. “That was a good quip. You’re just gonna let that hang?”

“Hmm?” he asks, clearly not listening to me. 

“Never mind, you’re no fun.”

“You got a sunburn,” he says quietly.

“What?” I ask, finishing up the bowtie.

“At the game. You got a…” then I feel his finger on my right shoulder where I have a small strip of white skin where my tank-top strap was this afternoon. I look down at where he’s touching me and the visual of it makes me feel a bit faint.

“It’s just a little pink,” I say with a dry mouth, slowly dropping my arms to my sides.

His finger starts tracing the small white line lightly. “Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

Hurt? That’s not the way I’d describe what I’m feeling right now. “No,” I whisper back. It’s quiet for a minute while he keeps his finger on the white line, gently tracing it up to my shoulder and then down to where it disappears into my dress. “I probably should’ve brought a dress with straps,” I mumble a minute later.

He shakes his head slowly and slightly. “It’s cute.” He leans down and kisses it lightly and I stop breathing.

He stands back upright and looks at the line again while his other fingers join his index finger, lightly brushing over it and my slightly pink shoulder. “You smell incredible.” Then he leans down and kisses it again, this time opening his mouth and lightly touching his tongue to it. 

I find that all I can do at this point is stand here like an idiot with my hands to my sides trying to remember to breathe. Eventually his lips move to my collarbone and I feel his teeth graze it ever so slightly and my knees buckle. On instinct, he puts his right arm around my waist and pulls me close to him, holding me up as his tongue dips into the dip of my collarbone, and I barely recognize the fact that I’m tilting my head to the side to make it easier for him.

But then he takes his lips off me and I can feel his hot breath on my shoulder and neck for what feels like ages until finally he stands up and, standing very close, looks at me before taking a step back with a guilty look on his face. “See, that…”

“Another accident?” I ask breathlessly, trying to decide if I want to hit him or jump his body. 

He nods slowly. 

“How was it an accident, exactly?” His eyes get big but he doesn’t say anything. “Because you didn’t like slip or anything, falling onto my shoulder. Right?”

“See… when I say accident,” he pauses and smiles sheepishly at me. “What I mean is I couldn’t help it. That kind of accident.”

“You couldn’t help it,” I repeat.

He nods. “Because of the line.”

“The line?”

“The….” He points tentatively to my shoulder as if he’s afraid to touch it. 

“The tan line, you mean.” The tan line he’s staring at.

“Yes.”

“It’s just a little line.”

He shakes his head quickly back and forth, still looking at said line. “No it’s not.” This makes me laugh and all thoughts of hitting him quickly start to dissipate. 

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s evil.”

“You said it was cute!”

“Unbelievably cute. Unbearably cute. Touchably cute.”

“Kissably cute?” I ask shyly, for reasons I’m not sure of since it was obviously kissably cute.

“God yes.” Ok, he said that in a really sexy voice.

“I see.”

“Yes. It’s your fault,” he says matter-of-factly, finally tearing his eyes off my shoulder and looking at me.

“It’s my fault?” I ask rather loudly.

“Yes,” he answers me calmly.

“And at the game?”

“Your legs,” he says, looking down at them.

“My legs?”

“You have really long legs,” he says almost reverently.

“I’m aware.”

“And they were naked.”

“Joshua. I was wearing shorts.”

He looks at me and screeches, “Close enough!”

“And because they were…”

“Naked.”

“Because they were un-naked, you couldn’t help yourself?”

He nods. “Right.”

“So…”

“Your fault again.”

“I see.”

Now he’s smirking. “I’m glad you see things my way.”

I smirk back at him. “Well mister, the accidents are over. I don’t make out with people I’m not dating.”

The smirk gets bigger and his dimples make an appearance. “Except the concession guy.”

Damn it. How does he make me smile like that? “Yes, except him. And you’ve had three strikes.”

“What?”

“Three accidents. Three strikes.” 

“Really the thing at the game should just be considered a foul ball,” he says, walking us towards the door.

“A foul ball?”

He shrugs. “No lips involved.”

“Well ok,” I say skeptically. “But a foul ball is still a strike.”

“Unless it’s the third strike,” he points out seriously, opening the door for me.

“Which it wasn’t.”

“Valid point. But what are you getting at?”

“I’m getting at this. Your next accident comes with a discussion.” 

He flinches at the horrible word I’ve chosen to use. “We just discussed it.” We enter the hallway and start towards the elevator and I’m blown away for the third time today how we can do that and then be us. But then it occurs to me that we’ll always be us and that makes me feel giddy inside.

“We just discussed how I’m to blame for all of this because I have legs and a tan line.”

“And your ‘take me now’ disheveled look this morning.”

“Take me now?” I ask with huge eyes and a look that he knows well.

“I should shut-up now?”

“Only if you want to live through this reception.”


	7. The Big Apple

“I’m a god here.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do you see how they hang on my every word?”

“They need a good laugh.” 

“They recognize me as the genius I am.”

“They’re sure your going to trip or spill something. They don’t want to miss it.” 

“The women here want me.”

“To shut-up.”

“I’m their knight in shining armor.”

“You’re afraid of horses.”

“I’ve saved the party.”

“This one or the democratic one?”

“I got their guy elected. Twice.”

“Should I word it that way to CJ, Leo, Toby and Sam?”

“They already know. They’re thinking of erecting a statue of me.”

“They just want to watch birds crap on your head.”

“Face it, you’re standing next to greatness.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

I look at her for a minute, an amused look on both our faces. “Your banter is quite exceptional this evening.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Face it, you’re standing next to greatness.”

********** 

I’m having a conversation with Senator Rafferty and the Secretary of Education when out of the corner of my eye, I see Brett Allen walk up to Donna with two glasses of red wine in his hand, holding one out for her. I’ll kill him. That sounds harsh to you? It’s not. Brett Allen wants Donna and seems to be immune to the fact that he knows damn well she’s off limits to him. The only thing saving him right now is the fact that Donna doesn’t drink red wine, so he’s given me the chance to be the hero.

I excuse myself from the conversation, grab a glass of white wine from a passing waiter, and make my way to them. I don’t hear the beginning of the conversation, but as I get close, I hear him saying, “I didn’t know you’d be here either. How did you manage to tag along?” Tag along?

“She was the White House representative in several special groups issues meetings,” I say, coming to the rescue, handing her the white wine and taking the red wine from her, sipping from it as I give Congressman Allen a once over. Donna flashes me a smile as she takes a drink from the wine.

Congressman Allen nods politely. “I didn’t know you were working on legislation now, Donna. That’s wonderful,” he says sincerely. Bastard. She nods and smiles at him and I feel the need to put my hand on her back. I might be a tad bit possessive. Perhaps. Maybe. Nah…

“Congressman,” I say, “If you’ll excuse us, Senator Rafferty’s looking for Donna concerning a special education bill she’s working on.”

“She is?” Donna asks excitedly. “We talked about it yesterday.”

“I heard,” I reply, chuckling at her a little bit. “She liked your ideas. She wants to steal you away from me for a few weeks to work on it.” 

Her smile gets bigger. “She does?” 

I nod with a big smile on my face. “Something about you being valuable.”

“Can I?” she asks like a ten year-old while Brett Allen looks at us strangely.

“You’d have to guarantee me in writing that when she offers you a full-time job in a week, you’ll turn her down.” I say, only partially teasing. 

“Deal. Let’s go find her.” She starts to tug on my arm before remembering Brett Allen the wonder-congressman, and looks at him one more time. “It was nice seeing you, Congressman.” 

“You as well,” he says smiling. “If you aren’t flying back to DC tonight, maybe we could have breakfast in the morning.”

My eyes get big. Is he asking her out right in front of me? What the hell? I’m already going to have to politically ruin hands-on Harris; does this guy have a death wish too? “Actually, we’re doing some site seeing before we leave tomorrow afternoon, so I’m sure we’ll be eating early,” I say in a way that clearly states he’s not invited. 

“Oh, well… perhaps another time then,” he says to her. She smiles at him and I fight the urge to hide his body by the damn tiger statue in Central Park. Instead, I wrap my hand possessively around her waist as we leave. 

“Where’s Senator Rafferty?” she asks a few seconds later.

“I don’t’ know, she wants you to call her on Monday,” I say, taking a drink of my wine.

“But you said…”

“I was rescuing you.”

“Rescuing me?”

“From Allen.” Duh.

“Why would you need to rescue me from Congressman Allen?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

She shakes her head. “No.” 

“Donna! He has a thing for you,” I say quietly but with a small screech to it.

She smiles, little minx. “Yes. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why do I need rescued from a young, attractive, influential man?” 

“He was throwing himself at you right there! Did you notice how close he was standing? It was sickening.”

“Sickening, huh?”

“Yes. He was undressing you with his eyes, trying to get you drunk and attempting to coax you up to his room with promises of breakfast!” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Hmm… and that would’ve been bad why?”

My mouth drops open and I stare at her. “Because!”

“Because? That’s your answer?” She’s finding this amusing! I can’t believe it!

“Yes!” Isn’t that answer enough?

“I see,” she says, nodding and pretending to ponder this amazing answer of mine. She’s quite the smart-ass, in case you’ve never noticed. She has a nice ass too, but that another point altogether. “So you were rescuing me.”

I nod hard once. “Yes.”

“See, you say rescuing. Others might call that sabotaging.” 

I shrug and smirk. “Potato, potato.” I’m not fooled. She doesn’t want Brett the Bore Allen. Plus she’s smiling that smile only I get. It’s an amazing smile.

********** 

“How much longer do we have to stay?” I whisper, coming up from behind her and getting close enough to smell her hair. It’s dangerous territory considering what’s been happening today, but she smells incredible and it’s hard to stay away.

She turns around and faces me and we’re very close to each other. We both take small steps backwards. “I thought you were having fun here, being a god and all.” See what I mean about the smart-ass?

I shrug. “It’s losing its appeal.”

“If we left, what would we do?”

“I’m starving.”

“There’s food here,” she reminds me, nodding towards a small table in the center with finger sandwiches and shriveled up shrimp.

“It tastes like plastic.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“We could catch a cab and be in Chinatown before ten.” She loves Chinatown.

“Chinatown?” she asks in a small voice of awe.

“Dumplings, Donna.” I know her well.

“You’re not playing fair,” she says biting her lip. I’ve almost won.

“I’ve never played fair. Chinese biscuits.”

“We’ve only been here an hour,” she says in a weak voice. She’s a goner.

“Leo’s instructions were to put in an appearance. He said nothing of the length of said appearance.”

“Dumplings?”

“And crab Rangoon,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at her.

“Crab Rangoon?” 

“Fresh crab Rangoon.” I lean in close and whisper in her ear. “And I’m buying.”

She moans like she’s having sex, which is an image I don’t need today. “You’re evil.”

“I know,” I say with a smirk, placing my hand on her back and leading her out of the room.

********** 

“There’s no better Chinese food in the world than right here,” she says, slurping some noodles into her mouth.

“Not even in China?” I ask teasingly.

She nudges me in the knee under the very small table we’re sitting at. “Be nice," she says, covering her mouth with her hand. Our knees remain touching, but I try to ignore it. You can probably imagine how well that’s going.

I pick up the last crab Rangoon. “I’m always nice,” I say, pulling it apart in the middle and holding half of it out to her. She leans in and opens her mouth for me, something we’ve done a hundred times before, and I find myself staring at her mouth.

We stay like that for a few seconds and she finally starts pouting. “Are you just teasing me?”

My eyes are kind of focused on her lips right now and I feel myself slipping into some sort of trance. 

“Come on, Josh. Share.” 

I can hear her say that, but I can’t make myself speak or look away from her lips.

“Hello? Josh?”

I feel her take the piece of crab Rangoon out of my hand and watch as she puts it into her mouth, her tongue coming out just a little bit and catching it. Then her mouth closes and she chews it and swallows, all while I stare at her. Then she takes a drink of her water and I want nothing more in the world than to be the glass between her lips. Then she puts the glass down and licks a little bit of leftover water off her lips.

After that, she doesn’t say anything for a minute, then I feel her breath on my thumb. 

What? Her breath on my thumb? I focus again, shaking my head just a little bit to fight off whatever keeps happening to me today, and my eyes widen when I see my thumb tracing her lips. Her soft, warm, red… oh no, I did it again. 

I rip my hand from her mouth like she’s Jaws. “Uhh…” 

She’s staring at me, a stare that’s a mixture of amusement, lust, anger, and confusion. Oh shit, that’s strike four. 

I say the first thing that comes out of my mouth. “You had… crab stuff… on your lip. I was just…getting it off.”

“Really?” she asks me doubtfully.

I start rambling. “Yes, really. So, we don’t need to have a discussion. That wasn’t strike four.”

“It wasn’t?” she deadpans.

I shake my head back and forth very quickly. “No. No accident. Just crabmeat.”

“Right.” She stares at me for a second and then leans very slowly across the small table, which scares me a little. I’ve been living on the edge all day. She’s not putting up with my shit any longer; she’s going to kill me. I’m going to die in Chinatown.

She gets as close to my face as she possibly can and then her tongue snakes out and she licks my lip, causing me to moan in a very unmanly, un-boss-like way. She sucks my bottom lip into her mouth for the briefest of seconds and then she leans back and sits back down before I even have a chance to reciprocate.

I stare at her wide-eyed for several seconds. “What?” she asks me innocently.

“Donna!”

“Yes?” she asks with an evil all-knowing smile.

“Donna!”

“What?” she asks innocently again, taking a bite of her dumplings.

“You kissed me!”

“I did?” she asks, mock confusion.

“Yes!”

“When?”

I wave my arms around like an idiot. “Just now!”

She shakes her head. “No I didn’t. I was just getting sweet and sour sauce off your lip.”

“Donna!”

“Yes?”

“You can’t kiss me!”

“I didn’t.”

I nod several times. “Yes. Yes you did!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says calmly.

“Donna! We can’t kiss!” Why do I keep saying her name?

“Absolutely not. We work together. That would be inappropriate.”

“But you kissed me!”

“Josh, I told you. You had sweet and sour sauce on your lip.”

“But you got it off with your tongue!” I all but scream, and I immediately find myself glad we’re the only people here other the elderly man behind the counter who speaks little to no English.

She nods and smiles. “Yes I did.” I put my elbows on the table and cradle my head with my hands, looking down at a spot of spilled soy sauce. “You ok, Josh?”

My head pops up. “No I’m not ok!”

“What’s wrong?” she asks as though she doesn’t know.

“What’s wrong? You kissed me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You did a favor for me by removing crabmeat from my lip. I returned the favor by removing sweet and sour sauce from yours.”

My mouth drops open and my eyes widen even more, if that’s possible. “That was payback!” I shout accusingly.

“Payback?” she asks with an evil grin.

“Yes!”

“For what Josh? Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

“Uhh….” Why can’t I form complete sentences around this woman today?

“I don’t understand Josh. Has there been inappropriate behavior between us recently?”

She’s turned this around on me! How the hell? She’s brilliant! She is brilliant and beautiful and sexy and evil. It takes every bit of willpower I have to not jump over this table and take her right her in Chinatown. “No, nothing inappropriate,” I say slowly, a look of fear in my eye.

“You sure? Because if I did something inappropriate, we should discuss it. Discuss why I would do something like that and what the underlying reasons for such an action were. You’re sure you don’t want to discuss it?”

Discuss it? No. No. I can’t discuss it, I can’t. I… no. Absolutely not. No. No way. What if I screwed up and used a specific word? What if she used that word? There’s no way in hell I’d ever be able to take my hands off her again if she said that word. “No,” I squeak out. “There’s nothing to discuss. It’s fine. It was just sweet and sour sauce. No big deal.”

She nods. “I’m glad you see things my way.” And then she gives me a look of death and I’m absolutely certain that she’s no longer putting up with the accidents. The question is… what if I can’t stop having them?


	8. The Big Apple

The phone rings and I glance at the clock, pissed that it didn’t wake me. I answer with , “It’s 5:45 in the morning Josh.”

“But I’m bored.” Great. He’s whining before six o’clock; what will he be like at noon? 

“You could try sleeping,” I helpfully offer. 

“I can’t sleep. I’ve been staring at the ceiling all night.”

Me too, but I don’t mention that. “What about watching TV?”

“It’s Sunday. The local channels all have church services on them. Entertain me, Donna.”

“Entertain you? Just because you’re awake, I need to be awake?” 

“Yes,” he says as if there’s no question to it. “Let’s get breakfast.”

“At 5:45?”

“The hotel restaurant opened at 5:30.” That means he’s been so bored that he’s reduced himself to reading the hotel packet on the desk in his room.

“I haven’t showered.”

“We’ll order room service; I’m coming over.”

“Right now?” He doesn’t answer. I turn my head and grown into my pillow, then I hear a knock on the door.

Yawning, I stand up and shuffle my way to the door. I open it and Josh looks as bad as I must. Let me rephrase that; he looks as tired as I must. Because bad is not a word that can honestly be used to describe him right now. He looks sexy as hell in a pair of boxers and a Cure Autism Now t-shirt with bare feet and his hair going in a thousand directions. Hmm… he’s got nice feet.

“You’re wearing pajamas?” he squeaks as I try to focus on him. I finally tear my eyes from his feet to his amazing legs to his hips in those shorts to his shirt, pausing to look at his strong arms, then to his neck and his mouth and finally his eyes where I find that he’s looking at my body, not my face.

“I was in bed.” He stares at me for a few seconds and then looks over at the unmade bed and chokes a little bit.

“This might not have been the best idea,” he mumbles.

“Then go back to your room,” I say in an unflattering voice before letting go of the door and walking back to bed. I climb under the covers and close my eyes. Must sleep. 

“What do you want for breakfast?”

I crack an eye open and look at him. I thought he left. “You’re still here.”

“Yes…” he says, holding the phone. 

“But you said…”

He shrugs. “I’m a glutton for punishment. French toast and fruit?”

“Of course.” I close my eyes again and I hear Josh on the phone. A minute later he hangs up and I feel the other side of the bed dip down. I open my eyes again and look over at him lying next to me under the covers. This *might* not have been the best idea??????? “What are you doing?” Great, now I sound like him.

“I can’t sleep in my own bed,” he whines.

I’m too damn tired to argue with him. “Well I can’t sleep here, so good luck.” I close my eyes again.

“You didn’t sleep either?”

“No,” I croak out.

“I bet I got less than you.”

I crack one eye open and close it again. “It’s not a contest, Josh.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s… never mind. None.”

“At all?”

“Nope.”

“Me either. What’d you do all night?”

“I went to a club and picked up men.”

“Nuh huh.”

“Very eloquent. I watched QVC.”

He snickers at me. “Donna…”

“Don’t make fun.”

“How much?” 

“Not much,” I say weakly.

“Come on Donna.”

I groan. “A skirt and a crock pot.”

“You’re such a sucker.”

“I was tired. I couldn’t sleep,” I pout.

********** 

We both must’ve fallen asleep, because when the room service guy knocks on the door forty-five minutes later, Josh jerks to a sitting position and says, “Get him on the phone,” which startles the hell out of me.

“What? Who? What? Where?” I’m a mess.

“Room service,” he growls, throwing the covers back and getting out of bed. I can’t see him open the door, what with my eyes being closed again, but a minute later I hear him say, “We ordered that for 8 o’clock.” Liar.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Sir. I apologize. There must’ve been a mistake with the order. I’ll take this back to the kitchen and bring you fresh at 8. And there won’t be a charge for it.”

“That’s not necessary,” I hear Josh say with guilt in his voice.

“Of course it is, Sir. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

Josh crawls back in bed a minute later. “Oops.”

“Good job.”

********** 

The next time there’s a knock at the door I’m the only one who wakes up. Josh is spooned up behind me, his hand on my stomach, and I’m not all that surprised to find that we even have accidents in our sleep. I climb out from his embrace and pad my way to the door where the room service guy apologizes once more and brings the food inside.

Once he leaves, I look over at Josh, who’s rolled onto his back and put my pillow over his face. I consider letting him sleep, but then I remember his blatant disregard for my sleep a few hours ago, so I take the two silver plate covers and bang them together loudly like cymbals. “Morning!!!”

He jerks up, eyes wide, and takes a minute to focus. Finally he glares at me. “I hate you,” he growls, getting out of bed and going into the bathroom. When he comes back out, I’m already eating. He sits down and looks over his food. “I got a lot of cantaloupe this morning.”

I act innocent and look at his bowl of fruit. “You sure did.”

He looks over at my bowl. “Not you though.”

“Nope.”

“Looks like you got a ton of grapes.”

I pop one into my mouth and smile. “I like grapes.”

He continues poking through his bowl. “Not one grape here.”

“Really? That’s odd.”

“No it’s not. You stole my grapes.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stabbing one of my grapes with his fork and eating it, “switched your cantaloupe for my grapes.”

“You have no proof of that.”

He takes another grape and then changes the subject. “So, what will we be doing today?”

I smile. “We’re going to SoHo to do some shopping and then having lunch in Greenwich Village.”

Here comes the whining. “SoHo… anything but SoHo.”

“This is my day, Joshua. Get over it.”

“But it’s SoHo.”

I look at him for a minute and finally nod. “You’re right, I shouldn’t make you go.” He smiles and thinks he’s won, and I give him a few seconds to bask in his glory before going in for the kill. “I’ll call Brett Allen. Maybe he’d like to tag along with me.”

His mouth drops open and it takes him a minute to recover. “So… SoHo, that sounds fun.” I smile triumphantly.

**********

I stand under the hot spray of the shower, still trying to wake myself up for I don’t know how long. I’m tired. Very tired. Extremely tired. Exhausted even. For two nights in a row, I’ve laid awake reminding myself that Josh and I aren’t dating. Friday night was doable seeing as how there’d been no physical activity, but after yesterday’s accidents followed by my little sweet and sour incident, my heart just wasn’t buying it, resulting in no sleep. None. Not one minute. Breakfast helped, but I’m still not at my best.

I get out and wrap myself in a towel before going back out into the bedroom to get dressed and pack. Josh and I are meeting back here in forty-five minutes to begin what Josh calls the ‘I can’t wait to get to SoHo’ part of the day.

When I open the bathroom door, I see that Josh has not gone back to his room as he was instructed, and is instead on the phone. I hear him say, “No, not him. And I think we need to consider looking for someone we can run against him next election.” I wonder whom he’s talking to and whom he’s talking about. “I don’t care, he’s a fucking pig. Someone’s going to sue him for sexual harassment and then we’re screwed… it’s New York, Toby. We need to keep the seat.” Now both of my questions are answered. To Toby about Senator Harris. Why am I not surprised he didn’t let Friday night go?

Now... I realize that I’m wet and in only a towel, and that although Josh is dry, he’s only in boxers and a t-shirt, but I can’t get dressed without my clothes which are in my suitcase on the dresser because I thought he’d be gone when I got out of the shower. So clearly you see my dilemma. 

Josh is pacing, so I quietly walk to my suitcase and slowly unzip it so as to not draw attention to myself. I pull out a pair of shorts and a v-neck t-shirt, then a pair of underwear and a bra that I quickly stuff between the shorts and shirt, and I close the suitcase. That’s when I hear Josh say, “I gotta go, Toby.” I look in the mirror and see him staring at me through it from across the room. Oh no, here we go again.

“Josh…”

“Donna,” he says, in a very husky voice that gives me butterflies as he takes a slow step towards me.

Glazed over eyes. Its’ starting again. “Josh, you’re uh… kind of…” another step towards me. “You’re uh… staring at me.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you… you know, having another one of those trance things?”

He takes another step and drops his cell phone on the desk by the bed.

“Josh,” I say very quietly. “You’re not about to have one of those… accidents, are you?”

He shakes his head slowly and takes another step. “No accident.”

I try to take a step backwards, but I’m against the desk. “You sure? You look kind of…” tranced. That’s not a word, so I don’t say it.

He takes the final step between us and takes my face in his hands. “This is on purpose,” he whispers before kissing me.

In the half a second it takes me to drop the clothes in my hands and wrap my arms around Josh’s neck, I’ve already vowed to kill him if he pulls back and acts like some sort of lunatic. 

But then I focus on the kiss. The amazing, wonderful kiss taking place. His tongue traces my lip, making me moan, and I pull him closer to me, opening my mouth and letting him snake his tongue inside. We’re both panting when we pull apart and somehow I’m sitting on the dresser and my bra is draped over his shoulder. 

He glances over at it and groans and then we’re kissing again, and this kiss lasts until I’m literally going to pass out from lack of oxygen. When he pulls back this time, he starts kissing my shoulder, running his tongue up and down the little tan line I have from the baseball game yesterday. I let my fingers dance around the skin on his neck and then run them through his hair when he leans down even further and starts kissing the very top of my breasts just above where the towel starts.

“Josh…” I moan, thankful I’m sitting down.

“Discussion, I know,” he mumbles, kissing up my neck until our eyes lock. Discussion? Oh right, discussion. We’re both panting pretty badly, and we take a few seconds to just stare at each other, breath mingling and lips hovering. 

“Discussion,” I whisper.

He nods. “The other night at the musical, I didn’t mean separately.”

It takes me a second to remember what he’s talking about, but when I do, my eyes go wide. I’d told him if we weren’t married by the time we were fifty, we should just marry each other and he’d said we’d be married by then. After some fumbling, he said he meant separately. 

I look at him for several seconds and then I pull him to me with a force I didn’t even know I had, wrapping my legs around him and pushing up on his shirt as our tongues duel frantically. I feel his hand on the towel and then a rush of cool air his my chest as he opens it and it falls onto the dresser. Then his mouth is on my breast and I’m shaking as I try to push his boxers over his hips.

After a good three or four minutes, he lifts his head and looks at me. “You’re going to have to transfer to a different department.” 

Who gives a damn? “Fine,” I say, kissing his chest, his neck, his Adam’s apple, whatever I can reach.

“There’s a spot open for a Congressional Liaison.”

I push him backwards a little and slide down off the dresser, walking us towards the bed. “We’ll talk about it later,” I say against his collarbone.

His legs hit the bed and he flops down on it, making him level with my stomach, which he kisses while his hands massage my thighs. “Have to…” he sticks his tongue in my bellybutton, making my knees a little weak, so I lean into him more. “Decide now.”

I straddle him, sitting on his lap, kissing him as his hands work their way slowly up my legs. “Now?” 

“I’m not having sex with my assistant, Donna.”

I try not to laugh. “Are you sure about that?”

He growls and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, making me do a growl-like thing of my own. When he pulls back, he says, “We get this or that. Not both,” just as his thumb brushes my center.

“This,” I pant. “I’ll take this.”

“Congressional Liaison” he asks before taking a nipple in my mouth.

“I’ll… oh yeah….apply for it… tom… oh god…tomorrow.”

He lies back and flips us over. “Leo told me to offer it to you three weeks ago.”

My head jerks up. “What?”

“Don’t be mad,” he says, dipping his tongue in my bellybutton again.

“Kay,” I pant.

He kisses his way back up to my mouth, then grins at me, flashing his dimples. “That was easy.”

“You’re not playing fair.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “I told you, I never play fair.” He grabs his phone off the table by the bed and kisses my collarbone, scraping his teeth against it like he did last night. I moan some more and he shushes me. “Margaret, I need Leo. Is he in today?”

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Shh…” 

“Leo, it’s Josh. Donna’s taking the Congressional Liaison job, we’re spending the night here and flying back in the morning. We’ll be in around noon.” I can’t hear Leo, but a second later Josh hangs up and kisses me, his hand palming my breast.

“All taken care of?”

“Yes, now let’s talk about SoHo.”

“I’ve changed the plans for today,” I say, rolling us over and kissing his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re staying in.”


End file.
